Redemption
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, Jet-centric] It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu, and Jet is growing up.


**Title:** Redemption

**Fandom:** Avatar: The Last Airbender

**Character:** Jet

**Rating:** PG-13

**Word Count:** 1,805

**Summary/Description:** It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu, and Jet is growing up.

**Warning/Spoilers:** Some violent/disturbing imagery and descriptions. Death. Angst. Jet's childhood: not a happy place.

**A/N:** Oh man. I am on a huge Jet kick. I squeezed this out over the span of a half a day or so; once the idea had me, it wouldn't let go. I've always wanted to do something Jet-centric; here we go! One of my two theories about Jet's tigerheads.

**Disclaimer:** I am not worthy of owning the sheer awesome that is ATLA.

* * *

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu.

Jet wakes up with a start, full of energy, and rushes to the kitchen to dance around his mother while she prepares breakfast. She swats him lightly on the head as he prances and whines and asks her to make his favourite sort of flat bread _please_. He promises to be good and not provoke the platypusbears near the river and not throw rocks at the cranky old man from the shop and not jeer at his peers who all can't keep up with him.

Jarla smiles and shakes her head and wonders at his boundless energy, already at its peak after only being awake for a few minutes. She reaches down to kiss him on the forehead, and he grimaces, wiping it away. Secretly, he is pleased. His mother smells deep and rich and sweet and good, like the earth, or a freshly cooked meal.

His father ambles in eventually, and Jet hides behind a high-backed chair so that he can ambush him; jump on his back or tackle him about the belly. As usual, it doesn't work. Dro grabs his son about the waist, and swings him around a couple times. Jet laughs and yells appreciatively. His father is a quiet, kindly man; he loves it when he comes out of his shell a little and plays with him.

His father sets him down on his feet, ruffles the already messy mop of hair, and bids him a solemn good morning with a twinkle in his eye. Jet grins wide and true, and returns the sentiment before they take their places at the table.

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu, and this family is sitting down to breakfast.

Jarla earthbends the small earthenware dishes over to her husband and son, because she can, and it helps to practice. The injuries that sent her home from the front lines are healing nicely enough, but it is unlikely that she will ever serve in the war again. Not as an earthbender, anyway. Bending with only an arm practically equates being crippled.

They eat in comfortable silence. Jet spends most of the meal looking longingly across the room at his father's tigerhead hook swords that are hanging on the wall. They awe him, with their long sleek bodies, bronzed hilts, and pronged ends. They are very rare, Jet knows, and he has no idea how they came into the family. He does know that he really, _really_ wants to learn how to use them. His father hasn't wielded those swords for a long time, but Jet sees him practicing on occasion, weaving the blades effortlessly through the air, guiding their rise and descent and swings with practiced hands. It's really, really cool.

Dro still thinks his son is far too young for this, but has agreed to give him his first informal lesson tonight, after he gets back from the mines. Jet can hardly keep still from excitement; he has been waiting for this day for what seems like a _million_ years.

There is no school today, and Jet is free to do as he wishes when the meal is over, and the table has been cleared away. He hugs his father, collects one more kiss from his mother, and dashes out the door.

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu. Dro drops a kiss to his wife's crown, and caresses her face before heading off to work. Jarla starts tidying up, and soon heads off to the little shop they own down the street. Jet is speeding off to the river, several miles off.

He will spend the day there with his friends, most of whom he will next see as blackened corpses. He will gaily chase sparrowkeets, who will screech and flee when they realise what is to come. He will roll about on the damp earth, innocent and carefree and lively and mischievous, not knowing that the earth of his home is soon to be scorched and ugly and dry.

He will wave goodbye cheerily when his friends leave to return to the village; he'll want to spend a little more time at the river, in the hopes of seeing the baby platypusbears. He will not heed the falling of night, and with the absentmindedness of a child, temporarily forget about his first lesson with his father's tigerhead hook swords. He will be a typical eight year old Earth Kingdom boy, having fun by himself in the fading light.

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu, and when the Rough Riders and their troops of firebenders invade it, Jet will be miles and miles away.

* * *

At first, he stares, not understanding.

The flames burn bright and hot and a vividly ugly orange colour; it gives off a putrid, sweetly metallic scent that he doesn't recognise as burning human flesh. Smoke is everywhere, curling into his throat and into his lungs, making it hard to see and breathe. _Everything_ is on fire; the trees, the houses, the shrubs. He thinks that this cannot be real, this cannot be true; just this morning Koshu was beautiful and bright and gleaming under the sun, and now the air is littered with screams and yells and grunts.

People push past him, frantic and terrified, running away from the village and the raiders, and he stands there, beginning to understand, and not wanting to.

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu, and people are dead, people are _dying_ within those flames, and the first batch of tears springs instantly to his eyes when he thinks of his parents. His sweet, competent earthbending mother, and his quiet, gruffly skilled father, at home in their little house, _dying_, and all his childish mind can think is _no, no, no, no, no, no._

Tears are streaming down his face and there, not too far from where he stands, is a cruel man with cruel eyes, and fire in his hand. He is terrifying against the backdrop of the burning, beautiful village and Jet screams and screams and cries and he is frozen to the spot with absolute fear. He can feel himself wetting his pants, and somewhere far in the back of his mind, he is embarrassed, but it barely registers.

He wants to do something. He tells himself that he should do something: go look for his parents, run, call for help, _fight_, rush into the flames to die. _Something_. But his arms are limp at his sides, and he is stricken, standing there, screaming, while the cruel man begins to laugh and the smoke becomes almost overbearing, thickly puffing into his face, disorienting him even more than he already is. His tears are warm on his already unbearably hot face.

The frightening man leers at him and advances, and whether it is from the smoke or sheer fright, Jet passes out.

* * *

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu. Jet wakes up on that same patch of earth, a few hours later, the moon shining brightly down on him. The smoke has cleared, and the flames have died down considerably. He can hear nothing around him but the quiet crackling of the little fires. His face is sticky and grimy from the dried sweat and tears and snot, and he wonders why he is still alive.

Not for long though. All too soon, one thought hits him, loud and clear: _his parents_.

Jet scrambles to his feet, coughing a little. He doesn't think before running further into town, dodging fires and avoiding voices, trying not to vomit at the sight of all the freshly dead bodies. The soldiers could still be here, and the thought alone scares him, but sleep provided what little courage he lacked before, and he _has_ to find his mom and dad. More than anything, he needs to find them.

And find them he does. He spots them from a distance; they are curled up together on the front steps of the little shop that the family owns. There are rocks littered all around; his mother had been earthbending. Jet can spy the hilts of the tigerheads, peeking out from underneath his father's torso, gleaming in the moonlight.

Jarla and Dro are spooned around each other, and they are both dead. Their bodies are almost black with burns, and that stomach turning scent of cooked flesh is still rampant in the air, mixing with the smells of waste and death. The flames didn't quite consume their faces, though, and his mother's eyes are wide open in agony and fear. Jet can spy a wicked looking dagger protruding from his father's back; he died trying to protect Jarla from attack.

It takes Jet a long while to realise that he is screaming loud enough to wake the dead (_if only_), and even longer for him to stop. His throat grows hoarse in no time, and if there are indeed Fire nation soldiers nearby, they're gonna come looking for him soon. But still he screams and cries because today, his world has ended; it is scattered all around him in ashes and burns and pain, and the realisation that he was utterly powerless to stop this, even if he tried. He cries and cries, folding to the ground in childish despair, wrapping arms around himself.

Time passes, and no one comes for him. The moon is slipping behind a cloud, and it is getting harder and harder to see. On weak, bruised knees, Jet crawls forward, still crying, towards the huddled shapes of his parents. He wants to throw his arms around them and never leave them ever, but something dark and hard and sickening tightens his stomach and he doesn't know if he can even touch them. Dry sobs push past his lips in gasps.

Carefully, he slides his father's swords out from under him. They do not seem to be worse for wear; a little blood, a little dirt, and nothing more. Jet traces a small finger along the tip of the spearhead, and thinks of the lesson that his father was going to give him, tonight. He sobs harder, and the blood from the sword smears on his shirt.

It is just another day in the Earth Kingdom village of Koshu. Jet is only eight years old as he cradles his father's swords in his skinny arms, thinking of the man with the cruel eyes and the fire in his hands; thinking of all the things he could not do, was too weak to do, and how he is going to spend the rest of his life making up for it from _that moment on_.

* * *

**A/N:** Can I just say that I like the history I gave Jet? I really like the idea of his mother being an injured bender, and his father being a quiet, kindly, yet firm mine worker, who is secretly skilled like whoa with the swords. I kinda want to write fic about Jet's parents now, lol.

Like I said before, this was written mainly to flesh out my second theory about where Jet's tigerheads came from. My first theory, is of course, that he stole them from some Fire Nation noble or dignitary. I daresay I like this idea quite just as much. It's bawtastic. :(

Please tell me what you think.


End file.
